HP – Don’t Be Shallow - TN/NL (I of II)
Oct. 20th, 2004 11:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hackthis_archiveDedicated to the darling ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
circe_tigana for the kind of enthusiasm you only hear about on Page-Six. Appreciation, cookies, naked virgins and the like are all freely heaped upon dorrie6, ethrosdemon, fearlessdiva, lalejandra and serialkarma because it takes a whole lot of people to make a character worth giving a shit about.
Theodore Nott/ Neville Longbottom
Don’t Be Shallow
Part I of II
If there were ten people gathered in a room making stilted conversation, who would be the most interesting amongst them? Would it be the most beautiful? The wittiest? The sluttiest? The Quidditch Champion? The most pureblooded?
Would that honour be given to one of the five people talking loudly about themselves and raising their voices to be heard over one-another? Should the four people on the outskirts of the conversation, nervously plucking at their robes and worrying that they were out of fashion or not 'getting' whatever the joke du jour happened to be even be taken into account?
Probably not.
Clearly the most intriguing person would be none of these.
Theodore Nott would've thought so.
Theodore had spent time with each of these groups, and he would've wagered that those nine people would've inevitably ended up in Azkaban or dead in a ditch from overt attempts at bravery. He had seen both the clever, quick-witted center of attention, and the quiet, watched boy who drew eyes by withheld words and subtle facial tics.
In short, those people could be found everywhere; there was nothing interesting about them, and Theodore wouldn't waste his time on anyone so easy. Instead he would turn his attentions towards the tenth person, the inevitable outsider, sitting in the corner watching everyone else.
After all, Theodore had been the tenth person all his life, and he saw nothing wrong with it -– although he freely admitted that finding someone of a similar sensibility presented a challenge: it was hard to find anything of depth when everyone appeared so shallow.
*
Neville Longbottom was the kind of boy one only noticed by accident; whether the accident was of his making or your own was irrelevant.
Theodore knew this because he hadn’t been looking for Neville for the first six years they spent together at Hogwarts, but then he looked up one day in Herbology and there Neville was, covered in dirt and fertiliser and smiling at Ronald Weasley as though the sun shone out of Weasley’s arse.
It wasn't the dirt that caught Theodore's attention or the crooked smile that Neville beamed as though he had thousands to spare. What caught Theodore off-guard was that Neville actually seemed to really know what he was talking about as he advised Weasley about his Circadian Crocuses.
Theodore had learned long ago how to eavesdrop on a conversation without appearing to do so, and for all the stop-starting of the Gryffindor exchange, it was clear that Longbottom knew what he was talking about. He spoke clearly and with a certainty of tone that Theodore appreciated, and when he tilted his head just so, he had quite a striking profile in the greenhouse light. His short brown hair looked spiky in a touchable way instead of the porcupine-way that Gregory Goyle was so fond of, and when he smiled it was the real thing instead of the automatic Professor-pleaser that Draco Malfoy was so good at.
Theodore had been surrounded by so much drivel at Hogwarts for so long that the idea of anyone with common sense, who wasn't Blaise, was intriguing. That night, as he lay awake listening to Crabbe's ear-shattering snores and Draco's less-that-delicate wheezing, he wondered how much Longbottom knew about plants and what other sorts of ideas he might possess.
The idea of taking over the world through the cunning use of plants was amusing, but not something Theodore craved. Truthfully, he didn’t give a toss about the rudiments of Herbology beyond practical application, but if there were someone with half a brain on the side of the Order, he wanted to know about it.
Unlike most of his fellow Slytherins, Theodore didn’t acquaint real superiority with bloodlines, but with knowledge and intelligence. Power was an extraordinarily flimsy thing, and it could change hands in an instant. If there was someone worth knowing, who might be persuaded to see things the same way, Theodore was interested, blood be damned.
He wasn't looking for a friend - Blaise had filled that designation long ago, and if he were after entertainment of any sort there was always Draco, and his great appreciation of all things theatrical and Potter. Pansy was quite good company in her own way, but what Theodore desired didn’t seem to fit within the normal constructs of Slytherin power-plays or accepted mutual-using.
If he wanted to shag someone, again, Draco was always available, and although Theodore was not the most attractive boy in their year, he had never lacked for that particular sort of companionship.
So, clearly, when he turned his attentions towards Neville Longbottom, he was looking for something else.
*
Approaching Longbottom was not something Theodore mulled over for any length of time whatsoever. He knew of people who fretted over approaching people they fancied or were keen on, but Theodore felt neither of these things where Longbottom was concerned -- he was curious. Nothing more or less.
However, Theodore knew enough not to simply accost Longbottom, since that sort of haphazard action never went well (Draco notwithstanding, all Slytherins possessed that knowledge). He had no reservations about approaching ‘the enemy’ either. He wasn’t the sort that attracted attention everywhere he went, being more of the skulking school than the attacking, and even if Longbottom’s fellow Gryffindors could object on principal, there was nothing they could ever accuse him of directly.
Theodore wasn’t stupid; he kept one eye on his mates and the other on Longbottom, and eventually the opportunity presented itself.
He didn’t consider himself a part of the inner Slytherin circle, but he had known most of his year since they were all in nappies, so some associations couldn’t be helped; and he was sitting between Pansy and Blaise at lunch one afternoon, when he noticed Longbottom leaving the Gryffindor table early. Since Draco was in the middle of talking about himself - his favourite topic - Theodore slipped away without a word.
He wiped his mouth discreetly with the tips of his fingers as he exited the side doors not far behind Longbottom, and he paused in the hall trying to sort out where Longbottom had managed to get to. No one as tall as Longbottom should have been able to disappear so quickly.
Theodore caught sight of him at the end of the corridor heading towards the Charms classroom, and he had to walk rather quickly to catch up without losing him around the twists and turns of the school.
Theodore’s robe flapped around him, and he frowned to himself as he felt perspiration beading along his forehead. At length he closed the gap and called out. “Longbottom?” A pause. “Neville?”
Longbottom stopped and turned around, and Theodore stopped as well. Longbottom had a bit of something staining the front of his robes and his eyes were a very ordinary brown, which Theodore noted for no reason at all.
“Yes? Sorry, I mean, do I know you?” Longbottom shifted from one foot to another under Theodore’s observation.
“Theodore Nott,” he said, taking another step closer.
“I know that,” Longbottom said with a sigh. “What I mean is, is there something you want? Sorry, I mean something I can help you with?”
Longbottom was much more curt than Theodore had anticipated, but perhaps this wasn’t a bad thing at all. It wouldn’t require Theodore to prevaricate.
“I understand you’re quite good at Herbology,” Theodore began. “I was wondering whether you might be able to offer me some help?”
Longbottom looked at Theodore for a long time. “Did Professor Sprout send you to me?”
Theodore made a noncommittal noise. He didn’t actually need help in Herbology, but that wasn’t the point. If he were to let a little thing like the truth get in the way of his immediate curiosity, it would take forever to get anything accomplished.
“Greenhouse Four, tomorrow afternoon,” Longbottom said. His tone was all statement and no query, which suited Theodore fine. He liked decisiveness.
“Lovely. Thanks.” Theodore turned the corners of his mouth up in what he hoped was a satisfactory way; he considered saying something charming or complimentary, but dismissed it out of hand as overkill.
Longbottom blinked and tilted his head to the side, but Theodore stood his ground. He had studied enough people in his time to know when it was being done to him.
Longbottom nodded his head finally as though satisfied, and Theodore felt the beginnings of an actual smile at the corners of his mouth. “You should wear something you’re willing to get dirty,” advised Longbottom.
Theodore nodded and then turned away.
Their primary interaction had gone well enough.
*
Longbottom was already in the greenhouse when Theodore arrived, which he found rather promising. Theodore abhorred tardiness as much as he approved of the white tee shirt Neville Longbottom wore quite well. His jeans were ratty and he wore scuffed trainers, but Theodore was much more interested in the slightly freckled forearms which Longbottom had on display.
“We should get started,” Longbottom said, and Theodore nodded his head in approval as he removed his robe and smoothed out the wrinkles in the black shirt he wore.
“Where do we start?” Theodore asked as Longbottom moved several bags of fertiliser off of a workstation and set down two potted plants.
“We should start with these Jack-knife Geraniums…” Longbottom’s voice trailed off as he took in Theodore’s attire.
“What? Theodore looked down at himself and then back at Longbottom. “You told me I should wear something I’m willing to get filthy, right?”
“Well, yes,” Longbottom hedged. “I meant something that was a bit grungy and old.”
Theodore looked down at the shirt he wore. “It’s black, what more do you want?”
“It seems a bit nice,” Longbottom began before cutting himself off. “Suit yourself. It’s your right if you want to ruin your clothes.”
“I know my rights,” Theodore said. “All three of them.”
Longbottom peered at him in a way that could have been uncomfortable for anyone else. “You know The Clash?”
Theodore narrowed his eyes and brushed invisible lint from the front of his shirt. He had placed an Obscuro over the shirt so that no one would see the band logo and design, and then he'd hidden it with a Scourgify as his father had taught him the first time he’d caught Theodore in his mother’s room, listening to her cache of Muggle music.
The shirt appeared to be plain black, but if Longbottom could see what the rest of his year were blind to though -- “Perhaps,” he said. “What of it?”
“Nothing, I’m just a bit surprised. I mean they’re – you know.”
“They’re what?” Theodore persisted.
“They’re a Muggle band.”
“You don’t say? I had no idea.”
Longbottom pursed his lips, and Theodore blinked. Longbottom looked quite fetching with dirt smeared on his previously white shirt, and when he caught Theodore staring, he made a half-hearted attempt to brush the dirt away. It was fruitless.
“I thought Slytherins hated everything Muggle,” Longbottom said with a shrug.
When Longbottom shrugged his shirt pulled across his shoulders, which were quite broad. Theodore swallowed even as he made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Not everything Muggle is bad.”
“You think so?”
“I think a lot of things,” Theodore said defiantly.
“Uh huh,” Longbottom said.
“Don’t say ‘uh huh,” Theodore corrected automatically.
Longbottom gave him another appraising look, and Theodore made a point of looking right back.
*
Theodore sat in the common room after another semi-satisfying dinner and studied the state of his hands. They were clean, of course, and his nail beds were free of dirt and filth, but he could still feel the fertiliser squishing between his fingers as Longbottom stood just behind him and patiently explained the differences between Precocious and Petulant Posies. Longbottom’s elocution wasn’t as sharp as Theodore’s but it wasn’t terribly hard on his ears either, and he found he enjoyed Longbottom’s speaking voice quite a bit. He had a slight lilt which Theodore could only presume came from summers spent somewhere provincial, possibly Ireland.
Over the last few weeks they had discussed several things during their study session, but had never encroached on anything more personal than who they thought might win the upcoming match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Their conversations had been stilted the first few times they’d met, but more recently they’d managed to relax into a middle ground of comfort, which Theodore quite enjoyed. Longbottom – Neville -- was a rather good conversationalist once he relaxed, and he tended to say what he meant instead of forcing Theodore to decode every sentence’s eighteen other meanings. It also meant that Theodore didn’t have to sift and filter every thought he had before speaking; it was rather refreshing.
Additionally, Theodore’s gardening was improving, although he wasn’t nearly as avid in his botanical attentions as Neville. Theodore had already been near the top of their class before he’d begun these little tutorials with Neville, and now, well, at least he’d had experience with being underestimated before.
Sighing inwardly, he glanced around at his fellow Slytherins lying about in typically indolent fashion. They certainly didn’t appear to be preparing for war, which if Theodore had heard correctly, could not be said of the opposing side.
Dumbledore’s Army indeed.
Theodore’s thoughts were jarred by a particularly loud whooping sound from in front of the fireplace where Draco, Pansy and Millicent Bullestrode were playing some sort of dice game.
War was inevitable, and Theodore seemed to be the only Slytherin in his year without his head in the sand. Pansy continually wondered aloud about her post-Hogwarts prospects, and Draco had somehow gotten it into his head that the war would be over in a matter of minutes, and Blaise refused to talk about the war full-stop. Theodore, however, had been there when his own father had returned from the episode at the Ministry. He had helped administer salves and bandages. He had been the one who went into his mother's long-sealed powder room and found Dr Flex's Concussion Remedy.
He was under no illusions about what would happen when the time came.
If killing Harry Potter were truly as simple as a Jelly-Legs hex it would have happened a long time ago -- but it hadn’t, and while Theodore would have loved to point this out to Draco, he didn’t think now was the time to start fights and create suspicion or dissention.
With another sigh, Theodore looked down at the blank parchment on the table and wondered what to say to his sister that would keep her innocence intact for just that bit longer.
In her last letter his sister had informed him that she had managed to persuade their house elf, Dottie, that she needed the animals in her porcelain menagerie animated, and now she had an inch-sized lion that roared like a mouse. It was very much the sort of thing that Alexandria would think important, and the sort of thing that Dottie would be willing to do to keep Alexandria out of their father's hair. Dottie was no pushover, but she was very good at keeping order in the Nott home.
Allowing himself a small smile, Theodore dipped his quill in blue ink and began his epistle. He was hardly through with the greeting when a shadow was cast over the parchment. "Draco, don't you have third-years to torment?" Theodore said without looking up.
"Perhaps he does," Blaise answered, "but I don't."
Theodore brushed black fringe out of his eyes and looked up. "Which is obviously why I find your company so refreshing."
Blaise smirked and rested both his elbows on the table by Theodore’s bottle of ink. “Writing to the lovely Miss Nott again?” he said.
Theodore raised an eyebrow. “She’s too young for you, Blaise.”
Blaise’s smirk spread, and he tugged a few dark curls behind his left ear. “Yes, but that won’t always be the case.”
Theodore rolled his eyes, and Blaise chuckled.
Blaise gestured towards Theodore with a nod of his head. “You’ve got a smudge of dirt on your face.”
Theodore tugged the sleeve of his green jumper over his hand and reached up to rub at his jaw line, allowing his parchment to roll back together. “Is it gone?”
“Been having fun in the greenhouse?” Blaise asked.
“Is it gone?” Theodore repeated.
“You know who’s become quite fit in our year? Neville Longbottom.” Blaise’s tone was conversational, but he lowered his voice severely when he said Neville‘s name.
Theodore stopped rubbing at his cheek with his jumper and narrowed his eyes.
“Finally got those teeth sorted out, and he’s quite tall. He finally had a hair-cut as well, looks a bit like a shaved niffler -- yes, you could do a lot worse, as far as they go,” said Blaise.
Theodore exhaled sharply through his nose and lowered his hand from his face. “If you were into that sort of thing,” he said busying himself with unrolling his parchment again and picking up his quill.
“Which thing?“ Blaise asked off-handedly. “Boys or Gryffindors?”
Theodore could feel Blaise watching him, and he made a point of looking directly into keen eyes when he answered. “Either one -- or both.”
Blaise stood up and brushed invisible lint from the moss-coloured polo-necked jumper he wore. “Of course,” he said, using his blandest tone to drive away the attention of unwanted listeners. “If it were me -- I’d likely go for both.”
He nodded once to Theodore and went off to join Pansy and Draco and the rest of the chosen few.
Theodore pointedly focused on his parchment and watched Blaise’s movements from underneath his eyelashes. That sort of conversation with anyone else would have required evasive measures immediately, probably involving Obliviate, but Theodore knew Blaise, and Blaise preferred intrigue and secrecy to anything else. Plus, the only person he was more loyal to than Theodore was his family.
The Zabinis were notoriously close-knit, but nobody ever talked about all that intermarrying anymore, it was boorish. Theodore couldn’t have cared less, but Draco had pronounced in their third year that once upon a time all of Blaise’s relatives had fucked each other, and Theodore had dragged him to their dormitory by his ear and announced that if he didn’t keep his mouth shut, Theodore was going to write to Lucius and announce that Draco was actively pursuing a Mudblood. Over-exposure to Draco’s posturing tended to make Theodore rather irritable, and while the Mudblood threat obviously wasn’t true that had never stopped anyone else from doing something similar.
Slytherins lived for blackmail.
Strangely enough, however, the only thing they appreciated more than someone’s demise was someone else’s success. Whether the success had been earned or stolen was irrelevant, but what Slytherin families understood better than anyone was that what went up also went down, and even if you were down, that didn’t meant you couldn’t get back to the top.
*
Everything began to go pear-shaped on the 8th of November at 4:36 in the afternoon. It was a frigid Wednesday with an overcast sky and the sort of wind that made Theodore’s eyes water. According to Professor Sprout, it was going to snow, which required all of her students to re-pot and re-plant every sodding plant in the nursery. It wasn’t enough that Theodore had gone through double Herbology earlier in the day; Neville insisted that they would have to come back that afternoon and do even more bloody replanting and all that nonsense.
Now, Theodore was up to his elbows in dragon fertiliser for the second time that day and doing his best not to sneeze all over the Dizzy Daisies, which were twisting and whirling their stems around each other in front of him.
There was dirt smeared down the front of his favourite Beatles shirt, the one from Abbey Road that had John giving a two-fingered salute and Paul racing up and down the crosswalk barefoot.
As the Beatles were a wizarding band Theodore hadn’t bothered to obscure the graphic in any way, and every few seconds a tiny voice would shout ‘Paul is dead!’ and all four men in the picture would dissolve in fits of laughter and then reappear seconds later.
Theodore blew his fringe out his eyes for the fifth time in two minutes and tried to remember why he’d thought this was a good idea to start with. Yes, he found Neville entertaining, and he certainly wasn’t as annoying as Draco. He didn’t require games like Blaise either, and he was decidedly not impressed by Theodore’s lineage, but why was he doing this again?
He enjoyed Neville’s conversational skills, but that wasn’t everything. He found Neville rather clever, but that couldn’t possibly be enough. He did fancy him, but that wasn’t everything either. Theodore had seen enough Glamour charms in his time, and he tended to be suspicious of overtly beautiful people; inevitably they were the most unstable.
No, it wasn’t any one of these things by itself – it was all three together that were making him a bit unfocussed.
A yellow Dizzy Daisy walloped him in the nose as it whirled around a red daisy in the next pot over, and that was it. Theodore pulled his hands free of the fertiliser and walked towards the back of the greenhouse, brushing dirt off his arms.
Neville could have at it as much as he wanted -- nothing was worth being walloped by a daisy.
He found Neville on his hands and knees doing something that involved smearing mud inside the bottom of pots, and Theodore was just opening his mouth to tell him what he thought of this entire enterprise, when he realised Neville was singing to himself in an extremely off-key manner.
No other pureblood of Theodore’s acquaintance would ever have lowered themselves by singing ‘I Fought the Law (and the Law Won)’ out loud, and yet, here was Neville, covered in mud and dirt. Moreover, he seemed to be having the time of his life.
Theodore cleared his throat, and Neville looked up and smiled. “Everything all right?” he asked, using the back of his arm to wipe at his forehead. When he moved his arm away, he had mud smeared on his forehead, and Theodore longed for a handkerchief to wipe it away. And instead of answering Neville, he blinked.
Theodore didn’t particularly enjoy surprises or things occurring which he hadn’t planned, and any sort of nurturing feelings towards Neville Longbottom were clearly not on his agenda.
“Everything’s fine,” he said after several seconds of Neville watching him and waiting for an answer.
Turning away, Theodore walked back towards the uncontrollable daisies.
Everything was not fine.
*
Theodore freely admitted there were some things he simply didn’t understand in life: how house elves did their magic without the benefit of wands, why his Aunt Narcissa had ever married Lucius Malfoy knowing what an egomaniacal prat he was, hating Muggles simply because they existed, and why people were so fascinated by Quidditch.
Theodore could appreciate Quidditch for the entertainment value, but he tended to be much more amused by the goings on in the stands than with whatever was happening on the pitch. There was always someone catching on fire or starting a fight or something droll. On the pitch though, there were only so many times that Theodore could watch people play catch before he was desperately bored and wanted to do something more stimulating, like watching the house-elves doing the washing up.
On the Saturday after the incident with the Daisies and the nurturing and the horrible realization that his interactions with Neville weren’t going precisely as planned, Theodore was buttoned up in a black wool coat, a dark blue jumper, gray trousers and his Slytherin scarf, worn more for the sake of his throat than for house unity. Thankfully, his dragon-hide gloves were insulated, but his hair persisted in whipping into his eyes because of the wind; and if Pansy shrieked in his ear one more time he was going to cast a Silencio on her and hex anybody who helped her get her voice back.
In addition, the Slytherin stands were quaking with all the yelling and screaming and jumping up and down; clearly the structure wasn’t sound at all. Theodore turned to tell Blaise he was going to go inside and pick lint out of his navel when something glittering caught his eye.
For a moment he thought that the Snitch had chosen a new place to hide and he was about to be dive-bombed by Potter or Draco, but apparently it was only a banner the Gryffindors had made. The lion underneath the Gryffindor crest was by turns red and gold in the sunlight, and from an aesthetic point of view, against the bright blue Scottish sky, it was gorgeous.
Like any good Slytherin, Theodore’s first instinct was to scowl and roll his eyes, but he paused when he got a better look at the motley crew standing just behind the enormous banner. He would recognise that flaming red hair anywhere, and that unruly tangle of brown curls couldn’t belong to anyone but Hermione Granger and where they were -- ah, yes, there he was.
Wearing a Gryffindor scarf and burgundy coat, Neville should have blended in with the rest of his house, but strangely enough, it was everyone around him who faded into the background. Even from so far away Theodore could see the blaze of Neville’s cheeks. He looked quite fetching considering he was probably freezing his arse off, and Theodore narrowed his eyes when Neville rubbed his hands together and blew on them softly.
Only Gryffindors would be outside in the Scottish winter with no gloves on.
Theodore only realised he was staring when Blaise elbowed him on his left side, and as he turned away he caught Neville smiling in his direction. Theodore felt an overwhelming urge to wave or grin or something equally ridiculous, and instead he bit his lip and looked in the general direction of where Draco had been ten minutes ago. When he looked back at the Gryffindor side, Neville was gone, and he scowled to himself.
“I’m going inside,” he said directly into Blaise‘s right ear.
Blaise gave him a piercing look before looking over his shoulder in the direction of the Gryffindor stands and then back. He smirked. “Yes, I suppose now seems like a good time to be alone since everyone’s out here.”
Theodore frowned.
“What?” Blaise did blithe like no one else.
“Never mind,” Theodore said, shaking his head even as he made his way through the crowd and toward the stairs.
Theodore had every intention of going back to the dormitory when he emerged from the Slytherin stands, and yet his feet didn’t appear to care, because instead of heading for the castle he headed in the direction of the greenhouses.
He found Neville standing by the shore of the lake, tossing in rocks in a haphazard manner.
“Enjoying yourself?” Theodore asked rather loudly, not wanting to scare Neville and have him jump into the icy water. Theodore wasn’t a very good swimmer and the last thing he wanted was to have to jump in to save Neville and end up drowning instead.
Neville didn’t answer Theodore’s query, nor did he turn in his direction when Theodore came to a stop beside him.
“I’ll confess something to you that I’ve never told anyone else,” Theodore announced suddenly. He paused when Neville turned and looked at him. He had no idea what he was going to say. He hadn’t even planned to say that -- clearly this was why it was bad to be spontaneous. “I can’t swim well,” Theodore admitted under Neville’s piercing gaze.
Neville’s eyes, which Theodore had always thought of as mud brown, seemed to glitter under the clear sky, and something in Theodore’s chest began to tighten.
Neville shrugged and went back to tossing rocks in the lake. “I can’t fly well, or at all, but I’ve never considered that a reason to be rude to someone when they’re only trying to be nice.”
Theodore stared across the lake in confusion. The sun bounced off the surface and created a gigantic mirror, which only served to blind Theodore until he had nothing left he could look at. “I’m sorry, are you talking about me?” he asked.
“Would it have killed you to smile back at me?” Neville asked, dropping a handful of rocks into the water and rubbing his hands on his coat.
Theodore frowned as Neville smeared mud along the side of his coat, and it took him a moment to realise what Neville was saying.
He looked at Neville as though he were speaking Urdu or Sanskrit. “Neville, I have absolutely no idea what you’re on about.”
A loud cheer went up from the stands, and Theodore supposed that the snitch had been caught or someone had been severely injured.
“When we were in the stands, I smiled and waved at you,” Neville said. “And you ignored me. You needed my help in Herbology and once you had it -- that was it. Obviously everybody was right, all Slytherins are the same.”
“I --” Theodore tried to explain and nothing came out. He couldn’t think of a time in his life when he hadn’t been able to come up with a suitable excuse for his actions; this was extraordinarily worrisome. It was as though Neville had disconnected him from all his automatic responses, and Theodore rubbed at his forehead trying to make some sense of what was happening.
“I’ve never needed your help in Herbology,” said Theodore. “I was fifth in our class.”
Neville stared.
Theodore shifted from one foot to the other, and Neville wasn‘t expecting it when he kissed him, which Theodore knew because he wasn’t expecting it either.
One moment, he was trying to piece together why Neville was upset with him and why his chest hurt, and the next his hands were full of Gryffindor scarf and all he could think was that Neville’s lips were dry and chapped.
What he needed was a good lip salve.
Releasing his hold on Neville’s scarf, Theodore pulled back and licked his own lips to ease the way before darting back in for another kiss. The angle was off this time though and they bumped noses, which only managed to exasperate him.
Theodore pulled away and fixed Neville with a piercing look. They would get this right or he would hex someone. He knew what he was doing, which meant that Neville wasn’t experienced at all. Clearly everyone in Gryffindor was blind.
Theodore yanked off his gloves and stuffed them in his pockets as Neville worried his lower lip with his teeth and dug at the ground with the toe of his shoe.
“Stop that,” Theodore said and Neville froze, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip.
“The biting your lip,” he continued, “No one wants to snog someone when their lips are a mess.”
Neville opened his mouth, ostensibly to protest, and Theodore grabbed him by the scarf again and yanked him forward. Their mouths crashed together in a mess of words and teeth, and Theodore couldn’t help the smile that turned up the corners of his mouth.
Neville’s eyes fluttered closed, but Theodore made a point of keeping his eyes open as long as possible. He could’ve counted Neville’s eyelashes if he had the time and were so inclined.
The kiss this time was much better than the previous two, and Theodore’s tongue darted into Neville’s mouth without invitation or ceremony. He stroked Neville’s tongue with his own, and slipped his fingers underneath Neville’s scarf and caressed his bare throat with the tips of his fingers.
He twitched slightly when he felt Neville’s arms around his neck and then shivered at the brush of cold fingers at the nape of his neck. The kiss grew messy and wet, and Theodore only pulled away when he grew light-headed and needed to breathe.
Neville’s arms slackened their grip around his neck as Neville panted into the shoulder of Theodore’s coat, and Theodore kissed the corner of Neville’s mouth twice, before nipping at the exposed skin of Neville’s neck.
When Neville made a noise in the back of his throat, Theodore pulled away and let his hands fall back down to his sides. Neville’s eyes were huge as he blinked and focused on Theodore. “Oh,” was all he said.
“Oh, Great Salazar’s Ghost,” muttered Theodore. Shaking his head, he backed away.
Notts didn’t do things like this.
It was one thing to snog a boy, and it was something else to snog a Gryffindor, but to snog a male Gryffindor in public was simply going too far.
Don’t Be Shallow: Part II
circe_tigana for the kind of enthusiasm you only hear about on Page-Six. Appreciation, cookies, naked virgins and the like are all freely heaped upon dorrie6, ethrosdemon, fearlessdiva, lalejandra and serialkarma because it takes a whole lot of people to make a character worth giving a shit about. Theodore Nott/ Neville Longbottom
Don’t Be Shallow
Part I of II
If there were ten people gathered in a room making stilted conversation, who would be the most interesting amongst them? Would it be the most beautiful? The wittiest? The sluttiest? The Quidditch Champion? The most pureblooded?
Would that honour be given to one of the five people talking loudly about themselves and raising their voices to be heard over one-another? Should the four people on the outskirts of the conversation, nervously plucking at their robes and worrying that they were out of fashion or not 'getting' whatever the joke du jour happened to be even be taken into account?
Probably not.
Clearly the most intriguing person would be none of these.
Theodore Nott would've thought so.
Theodore had spent time with each of these groups, and he would've wagered that those nine people would've inevitably ended up in Azkaban or dead in a ditch from overt attempts at bravery. He had seen both the clever, quick-witted center of attention, and the quiet, watched boy who drew eyes by withheld words and subtle facial tics.
In short, those people could be found everywhere; there was nothing interesting about them, and Theodore wouldn't waste his time on anyone so easy. Instead he would turn his attentions towards the tenth person, the inevitable outsider, sitting in the corner watching everyone else.
After all, Theodore had been the tenth person all his life, and he saw nothing wrong with it -– although he freely admitted that finding someone of a similar sensibility presented a challenge: it was hard to find anything of depth when everyone appeared so shallow.
Neville Longbottom was the kind of boy one only noticed by accident; whether the accident was of his making or your own was irrelevant.
Theodore knew this because he hadn’t been looking for Neville for the first six years they spent together at Hogwarts, but then he looked up one day in Herbology and there Neville was, covered in dirt and fertiliser and smiling at Ronald Weasley as though the sun shone out of Weasley’s arse.
It wasn't the dirt that caught Theodore's attention or the crooked smile that Neville beamed as though he had thousands to spare. What caught Theodore off-guard was that Neville actually seemed to really know what he was talking about as he advised Weasley about his Circadian Crocuses.
Theodore had learned long ago how to eavesdrop on a conversation without appearing to do so, and for all the stop-starting of the Gryffindor exchange, it was clear that Longbottom knew what he was talking about. He spoke clearly and with a certainty of tone that Theodore appreciated, and when he tilted his head just so, he had quite a striking profile in the greenhouse light. His short brown hair looked spiky in a touchable way instead of the porcupine-way that Gregory Goyle was so fond of, and when he smiled it was the real thing instead of the automatic Professor-pleaser that Draco Malfoy was so good at.
Theodore had been surrounded by so much drivel at Hogwarts for so long that the idea of anyone with common sense, who wasn't Blaise, was intriguing. That night, as he lay awake listening to Crabbe's ear-shattering snores and Draco's less-that-delicate wheezing, he wondered how much Longbottom knew about plants and what other sorts of ideas he might possess.
The idea of taking over the world through the cunning use of plants was amusing, but not something Theodore craved. Truthfully, he didn’t give a toss about the rudiments of Herbology beyond practical application, but if there were someone with half a brain on the side of the Order, he wanted to know about it.
Unlike most of his fellow Slytherins, Theodore didn’t acquaint real superiority with bloodlines, but with knowledge and intelligence. Power was an extraordinarily flimsy thing, and it could change hands in an instant. If there was someone worth knowing, who might be persuaded to see things the same way, Theodore was interested, blood be damned.
He wasn't looking for a friend - Blaise had filled that designation long ago, and if he were after entertainment of any sort there was always Draco, and his great appreciation of all things theatrical and Potter. Pansy was quite good company in her own way, but what Theodore desired didn’t seem to fit within the normal constructs of Slytherin power-plays or accepted mutual-using.
If he wanted to shag someone, again, Draco was always available, and although Theodore was not the most attractive boy in their year, he had never lacked for that particular sort of companionship.
So, clearly, when he turned his attentions towards Neville Longbottom, he was looking for something else.
Approaching Longbottom was not something Theodore mulled over for any length of time whatsoever. He knew of people who fretted over approaching people they fancied or were keen on, but Theodore felt neither of these things where Longbottom was concerned -- he was curious. Nothing more or less.
However, Theodore knew enough not to simply accost Longbottom, since that sort of haphazard action never went well (Draco notwithstanding, all Slytherins possessed that knowledge). He had no reservations about approaching ‘the enemy’ either. He wasn’t the sort that attracted attention everywhere he went, being more of the skulking school than the attacking, and even if Longbottom’s fellow Gryffindors could object on principal, there was nothing they could ever accuse him of directly.
Theodore wasn’t stupid; he kept one eye on his mates and the other on Longbottom, and eventually the opportunity presented itself.
He didn’t consider himself a part of the inner Slytherin circle, but he had known most of his year since they were all in nappies, so some associations couldn’t be helped; and he was sitting between Pansy and Blaise at lunch one afternoon, when he noticed Longbottom leaving the Gryffindor table early. Since Draco was in the middle of talking about himself - his favourite topic - Theodore slipped away without a word.
He wiped his mouth discreetly with the tips of his fingers as he exited the side doors not far behind Longbottom, and he paused in the hall trying to sort out where Longbottom had managed to get to. No one as tall as Longbottom should have been able to disappear so quickly.
Theodore caught sight of him at the end of the corridor heading towards the Charms classroom, and he had to walk rather quickly to catch up without losing him around the twists and turns of the school.
Theodore’s robe flapped around him, and he frowned to himself as he felt perspiration beading along his forehead. At length he closed the gap and called out. “Longbottom?” A pause. “Neville?”
Longbottom stopped and turned around, and Theodore stopped as well. Longbottom had a bit of something staining the front of his robes and his eyes were a very ordinary brown, which Theodore noted for no reason at all.
“Yes? Sorry, I mean, do I know you?” Longbottom shifted from one foot to another under Theodore’s observation.
“Theodore Nott,” he said, taking another step closer.
“I know that,” Longbottom said with a sigh. “What I mean is, is there something you want? Sorry, I mean something I can help you with?”
Longbottom was much more curt than Theodore had anticipated, but perhaps this wasn’t a bad thing at all. It wouldn’t require Theodore to prevaricate.
“I understand you’re quite good at Herbology,” Theodore began. “I was wondering whether you might be able to offer me some help?”
Longbottom looked at Theodore for a long time. “Did Professor Sprout send you to me?”
Theodore made a noncommittal noise. He didn’t actually need help in Herbology, but that wasn’t the point. If he were to let a little thing like the truth get in the way of his immediate curiosity, it would take forever to get anything accomplished.
“Greenhouse Four, tomorrow afternoon,” Longbottom said. His tone was all statement and no query, which suited Theodore fine. He liked decisiveness.
“Lovely. Thanks.” Theodore turned the corners of his mouth up in what he hoped was a satisfactory way; he considered saying something charming or complimentary, but dismissed it out of hand as overkill.
Longbottom blinked and tilted his head to the side, but Theodore stood his ground. He had studied enough people in his time to know when it was being done to him.
Longbottom nodded his head finally as though satisfied, and Theodore felt the beginnings of an actual smile at the corners of his mouth. “You should wear something you’re willing to get dirty,” advised Longbottom.
Theodore nodded and then turned away.
Their primary interaction had gone well enough.
Longbottom was already in the greenhouse when Theodore arrived, which he found rather promising. Theodore abhorred tardiness as much as he approved of the white tee shirt Neville Longbottom wore quite well. His jeans were ratty and he wore scuffed trainers, but Theodore was much more interested in the slightly freckled forearms which Longbottom had on display.
“We should get started,” Longbottom said, and Theodore nodded his head in approval as he removed his robe and smoothed out the wrinkles in the black shirt he wore.
“Where do we start?” Theodore asked as Longbottom moved several bags of fertiliser off of a workstation and set down two potted plants.
“We should start with these Jack-knife Geraniums…” Longbottom’s voice trailed off as he took in Theodore’s attire.
“What? Theodore looked down at himself and then back at Longbottom. “You told me I should wear something I’m willing to get filthy, right?”
“Well, yes,” Longbottom hedged. “I meant something that was a bit grungy and old.”
Theodore looked down at the shirt he wore. “It’s black, what more do you want?”
“It seems a bit nice,” Longbottom began before cutting himself off. “Suit yourself. It’s your right if you want to ruin your clothes.”
“I know my rights,” Theodore said. “All three of them.”
Longbottom peered at him in a way that could have been uncomfortable for anyone else. “You know The Clash?”
Theodore narrowed his eyes and brushed invisible lint from the front of his shirt. He had placed an Obscuro over the shirt so that no one would see the band logo and design, and then he'd hidden it with a Scourgify as his father had taught him the first time he’d caught Theodore in his mother’s room, listening to her cache of Muggle music.
The shirt appeared to be plain black, but if Longbottom could see what the rest of his year were blind to though -- “Perhaps,” he said. “What of it?”
“Nothing, I’m just a bit surprised. I mean they’re – you know.”
“They’re what?” Theodore persisted.
“They’re a Muggle band.”
“You don’t say? I had no idea.”
Longbottom pursed his lips, and Theodore blinked. Longbottom looked quite fetching with dirt smeared on his previously white shirt, and when he caught Theodore staring, he made a half-hearted attempt to brush the dirt away. It was fruitless.
“I thought Slytherins hated everything Muggle,” Longbottom said with a shrug.
When Longbottom shrugged his shirt pulled across his shoulders, which were quite broad. Theodore swallowed even as he made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Not everything Muggle is bad.”
“You think so?”
“I think a lot of things,” Theodore said defiantly.
“Uh huh,” Longbottom said.
“Don’t say ‘uh huh,” Theodore corrected automatically.
Longbottom gave him another appraising look, and Theodore made a point of looking right back.
Theodore sat in the common room after another semi-satisfying dinner and studied the state of his hands. They were clean, of course, and his nail beds were free of dirt and filth, but he could still feel the fertiliser squishing between his fingers as Longbottom stood just behind him and patiently explained the differences between Precocious and Petulant Posies. Longbottom’s elocution wasn’t as sharp as Theodore’s but it wasn’t terribly hard on his ears either, and he found he enjoyed Longbottom’s speaking voice quite a bit. He had a slight lilt which Theodore could only presume came from summers spent somewhere provincial, possibly Ireland.
Over the last few weeks they had discussed several things during their study session, but had never encroached on anything more personal than who they thought might win the upcoming match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Their conversations had been stilted the first few times they’d met, but more recently they’d managed to relax into a middle ground of comfort, which Theodore quite enjoyed. Longbottom – Neville -- was a rather good conversationalist once he relaxed, and he tended to say what he meant instead of forcing Theodore to decode every sentence’s eighteen other meanings. It also meant that Theodore didn’t have to sift and filter every thought he had before speaking; it was rather refreshing.
Additionally, Theodore’s gardening was improving, although he wasn’t nearly as avid in his botanical attentions as Neville. Theodore had already been near the top of their class before he’d begun these little tutorials with Neville, and now, well, at least he’d had experience with being underestimated before.
Sighing inwardly, he glanced around at his fellow Slytherins lying about in typically indolent fashion. They certainly didn’t appear to be preparing for war, which if Theodore had heard correctly, could not be said of the opposing side.
Dumbledore’s Army indeed.
Theodore’s thoughts were jarred by a particularly loud whooping sound from in front of the fireplace where Draco, Pansy and Millicent Bullestrode were playing some sort of dice game.
War was inevitable, and Theodore seemed to be the only Slytherin in his year without his head in the sand. Pansy continually wondered aloud about her post-Hogwarts prospects, and Draco had somehow gotten it into his head that the war would be over in a matter of minutes, and Blaise refused to talk about the war full-stop. Theodore, however, had been there when his own father had returned from the episode at the Ministry. He had helped administer salves and bandages. He had been the one who went into his mother's long-sealed powder room and found Dr Flex's Concussion Remedy.
He was under no illusions about what would happen when the time came.
If killing Harry Potter were truly as simple as a Jelly-Legs hex it would have happened a long time ago -- but it hadn’t, and while Theodore would have loved to point this out to Draco, he didn’t think now was the time to start fights and create suspicion or dissention.
With another sigh, Theodore looked down at the blank parchment on the table and wondered what to say to his sister that would keep her innocence intact for just that bit longer.
In her last letter his sister had informed him that she had managed to persuade their house elf, Dottie, that she needed the animals in her porcelain menagerie animated, and now she had an inch-sized lion that roared like a mouse. It was very much the sort of thing that Alexandria would think important, and the sort of thing that Dottie would be willing to do to keep Alexandria out of their father's hair. Dottie was no pushover, but she was very good at keeping order in the Nott home.
Allowing himself a small smile, Theodore dipped his quill in blue ink and began his epistle. He was hardly through with the greeting when a shadow was cast over the parchment. "Draco, don't you have third-years to torment?" Theodore said without looking up.
"Perhaps he does," Blaise answered, "but I don't."
Theodore brushed black fringe out of his eyes and looked up. "Which is obviously why I find your company so refreshing."
Blaise smirked and rested both his elbows on the table by Theodore’s bottle of ink. “Writing to the lovely Miss Nott again?” he said.
Theodore raised an eyebrow. “She’s too young for you, Blaise.”
Blaise’s smirk spread, and he tugged a few dark curls behind his left ear. “Yes, but that won’t always be the case.”
Theodore rolled his eyes, and Blaise chuckled.
Blaise gestured towards Theodore with a nod of his head. “You’ve got a smudge of dirt on your face.”
Theodore tugged the sleeve of his green jumper over his hand and reached up to rub at his jaw line, allowing his parchment to roll back together. “Is it gone?”
“Been having fun in the greenhouse?” Blaise asked.
“Is it gone?” Theodore repeated.
“You know who’s become quite fit in our year? Neville Longbottom.” Blaise’s tone was conversational, but he lowered his voice severely when he said Neville‘s name.
Theodore stopped rubbing at his cheek with his jumper and narrowed his eyes.
“Finally got those teeth sorted out, and he’s quite tall. He finally had a hair-cut as well, looks a bit like a shaved niffler -- yes, you could do a lot worse, as far as they go,” said Blaise.
Theodore exhaled sharply through his nose and lowered his hand from his face. “If you were into that sort of thing,” he said busying himself with unrolling his parchment again and picking up his quill.
“Which thing?“ Blaise asked off-handedly. “Boys or Gryffindors?”
Theodore could feel Blaise watching him, and he made a point of looking directly into keen eyes when he answered. “Either one -- or both.”
Blaise stood up and brushed invisible lint from the moss-coloured polo-necked jumper he wore. “Of course,” he said, using his blandest tone to drive away the attention of unwanted listeners. “If it were me -- I’d likely go for both.”
He nodded once to Theodore and went off to join Pansy and Draco and the rest of the chosen few.
Theodore pointedly focused on his parchment and watched Blaise’s movements from underneath his eyelashes. That sort of conversation with anyone else would have required evasive measures immediately, probably involving Obliviate, but Theodore knew Blaise, and Blaise preferred intrigue and secrecy to anything else. Plus, the only person he was more loyal to than Theodore was his family.
The Zabinis were notoriously close-knit, but nobody ever talked about all that intermarrying anymore, it was boorish. Theodore couldn’t have cared less, but Draco had pronounced in their third year that once upon a time all of Blaise’s relatives had fucked each other, and Theodore had dragged him to their dormitory by his ear and announced that if he didn’t keep his mouth shut, Theodore was going to write to Lucius and announce that Draco was actively pursuing a Mudblood. Over-exposure to Draco’s posturing tended to make Theodore rather irritable, and while the Mudblood threat obviously wasn’t true that had never stopped anyone else from doing something similar.
Slytherins lived for blackmail.
Strangely enough, however, the only thing they appreciated more than someone’s demise was someone else’s success. Whether the success had been earned or stolen was irrelevant, but what Slytherin families understood better than anyone was that what went up also went down, and even if you were down, that didn’t meant you couldn’t get back to the top.
Everything began to go pear-shaped on the 8th of November at 4:36 in the afternoon. It was a frigid Wednesday with an overcast sky and the sort of wind that made Theodore’s eyes water. According to Professor Sprout, it was going to snow, which required all of her students to re-pot and re-plant every sodding plant in the nursery. It wasn’t enough that Theodore had gone through double Herbology earlier in the day; Neville insisted that they would have to come back that afternoon and do even more bloody replanting and all that nonsense.
Now, Theodore was up to his elbows in dragon fertiliser for the second time that day and doing his best not to sneeze all over the Dizzy Daisies, which were twisting and whirling their stems around each other in front of him.
There was dirt smeared down the front of his favourite Beatles shirt, the one from Abbey Road that had John giving a two-fingered salute and Paul racing up and down the crosswalk barefoot.
As the Beatles were a wizarding band Theodore hadn’t bothered to obscure the graphic in any way, and every few seconds a tiny voice would shout ‘Paul is dead!’ and all four men in the picture would dissolve in fits of laughter and then reappear seconds later.
Theodore blew his fringe out his eyes for the fifth time in two minutes and tried to remember why he’d thought this was a good idea to start with. Yes, he found Neville entertaining, and he certainly wasn’t as annoying as Draco. He didn’t require games like Blaise either, and he was decidedly not impressed by Theodore’s lineage, but why was he doing this again?
He enjoyed Neville’s conversational skills, but that wasn’t everything. He found Neville rather clever, but that couldn’t possibly be enough. He did fancy him, but that wasn’t everything either. Theodore had seen enough Glamour charms in his time, and he tended to be suspicious of overtly beautiful people; inevitably they were the most unstable.
No, it wasn’t any one of these things by itself – it was all three together that were making him a bit unfocussed.
A yellow Dizzy Daisy walloped him in the nose as it whirled around a red daisy in the next pot over, and that was it. Theodore pulled his hands free of the fertiliser and walked towards the back of the greenhouse, brushing dirt off his arms.
Neville could have at it as much as he wanted -- nothing was worth being walloped by a daisy.
He found Neville on his hands and knees doing something that involved smearing mud inside the bottom of pots, and Theodore was just opening his mouth to tell him what he thought of this entire enterprise, when he realised Neville was singing to himself in an extremely off-key manner.
No other pureblood of Theodore’s acquaintance would ever have lowered themselves by singing ‘I Fought the Law (and the Law Won)’ out loud, and yet, here was Neville, covered in mud and dirt. Moreover, he seemed to be having the time of his life.
Theodore cleared his throat, and Neville looked up and smiled. “Everything all right?” he asked, using the back of his arm to wipe at his forehead. When he moved his arm away, he had mud smeared on his forehead, and Theodore longed for a handkerchief to wipe it away. And instead of answering Neville, he blinked.
Theodore didn’t particularly enjoy surprises or things occurring which he hadn’t planned, and any sort of nurturing feelings towards Neville Longbottom were clearly not on his agenda.
“Everything’s fine,” he said after several seconds of Neville watching him and waiting for an answer.
Turning away, Theodore walked back towards the uncontrollable daisies.
Everything was not fine.
Theodore freely admitted there were some things he simply didn’t understand in life: how house elves did their magic without the benefit of wands, why his Aunt Narcissa had ever married Lucius Malfoy knowing what an egomaniacal prat he was, hating Muggles simply because they existed, and why people were so fascinated by Quidditch.
Theodore could appreciate Quidditch for the entertainment value, but he tended to be much more amused by the goings on in the stands than with whatever was happening on the pitch. There was always someone catching on fire or starting a fight or something droll. On the pitch though, there were only so many times that Theodore could watch people play catch before he was desperately bored and wanted to do something more stimulating, like watching the house-elves doing the washing up.
On the Saturday after the incident with the Daisies and the nurturing and the horrible realization that his interactions with Neville weren’t going precisely as planned, Theodore was buttoned up in a black wool coat, a dark blue jumper, gray trousers and his Slytherin scarf, worn more for the sake of his throat than for house unity. Thankfully, his dragon-hide gloves were insulated, but his hair persisted in whipping into his eyes because of the wind; and if Pansy shrieked in his ear one more time he was going to cast a Silencio on her and hex anybody who helped her get her voice back.
In addition, the Slytherin stands were quaking with all the yelling and screaming and jumping up and down; clearly the structure wasn’t sound at all. Theodore turned to tell Blaise he was going to go inside and pick lint out of his navel when something glittering caught his eye.
For a moment he thought that the Snitch had chosen a new place to hide and he was about to be dive-bombed by Potter or Draco, but apparently it was only a banner the Gryffindors had made. The lion underneath the Gryffindor crest was by turns red and gold in the sunlight, and from an aesthetic point of view, against the bright blue Scottish sky, it was gorgeous.
Like any good Slytherin, Theodore’s first instinct was to scowl and roll his eyes, but he paused when he got a better look at the motley crew standing just behind the enormous banner. He would recognise that flaming red hair anywhere, and that unruly tangle of brown curls couldn’t belong to anyone but Hermione Granger and where they were -- ah, yes, there he was.
Wearing a Gryffindor scarf and burgundy coat, Neville should have blended in with the rest of his house, but strangely enough, it was everyone around him who faded into the background. Even from so far away Theodore could see the blaze of Neville’s cheeks. He looked quite fetching considering he was probably freezing his arse off, and Theodore narrowed his eyes when Neville rubbed his hands together and blew on them softly.
Only Gryffindors would be outside in the Scottish winter with no gloves on.
Theodore only realised he was staring when Blaise elbowed him on his left side, and as he turned away he caught Neville smiling in his direction. Theodore felt an overwhelming urge to wave or grin or something equally ridiculous, and instead he bit his lip and looked in the general direction of where Draco had been ten minutes ago. When he looked back at the Gryffindor side, Neville was gone, and he scowled to himself.
“I’m going inside,” he said directly into Blaise‘s right ear.
Blaise gave him a piercing look before looking over his shoulder in the direction of the Gryffindor stands and then back. He smirked. “Yes, I suppose now seems like a good time to be alone since everyone’s out here.”
Theodore frowned.
“What?” Blaise did blithe like no one else.
“Never mind,” Theodore said, shaking his head even as he made his way through the crowd and toward the stairs.
Theodore had every intention of going back to the dormitory when he emerged from the Slytherin stands, and yet his feet didn’t appear to care, because instead of heading for the castle he headed in the direction of the greenhouses.
He found Neville standing by the shore of the lake, tossing in rocks in a haphazard manner.
“Enjoying yourself?” Theodore asked rather loudly, not wanting to scare Neville and have him jump into the icy water. Theodore wasn’t a very good swimmer and the last thing he wanted was to have to jump in to save Neville and end up drowning instead.
Neville didn’t answer Theodore’s query, nor did he turn in his direction when Theodore came to a stop beside him.
“I’ll confess something to you that I’ve never told anyone else,” Theodore announced suddenly. He paused when Neville turned and looked at him. He had no idea what he was going to say. He hadn’t even planned to say that -- clearly this was why it was bad to be spontaneous. “I can’t swim well,” Theodore admitted under Neville’s piercing gaze.
Neville’s eyes, which Theodore had always thought of as mud brown, seemed to glitter under the clear sky, and something in Theodore’s chest began to tighten.
Neville shrugged and went back to tossing rocks in the lake. “I can’t fly well, or at all, but I’ve never considered that a reason to be rude to someone when they’re only trying to be nice.”
Theodore stared across the lake in confusion. The sun bounced off the surface and created a gigantic mirror, which only served to blind Theodore until he had nothing left he could look at. “I’m sorry, are you talking about me?” he asked.
“Would it have killed you to smile back at me?” Neville asked, dropping a handful of rocks into the water and rubbing his hands on his coat.
Theodore frowned as Neville smeared mud along the side of his coat, and it took him a moment to realise what Neville was saying.
He looked at Neville as though he were speaking Urdu or Sanskrit. “Neville, I have absolutely no idea what you’re on about.”
A loud cheer went up from the stands, and Theodore supposed that the snitch had been caught or someone had been severely injured.
“When we were in the stands, I smiled and waved at you,” Neville said. “And you ignored me. You needed my help in Herbology and once you had it -- that was it. Obviously everybody was right, all Slytherins are the same.”
“I --” Theodore tried to explain and nothing came out. He couldn’t think of a time in his life when he hadn’t been able to come up with a suitable excuse for his actions; this was extraordinarily worrisome. It was as though Neville had disconnected him from all his automatic responses, and Theodore rubbed at his forehead trying to make some sense of what was happening.
“I’ve never needed your help in Herbology,” said Theodore. “I was fifth in our class.”
Neville stared.
Theodore shifted from one foot to the other, and Neville wasn‘t expecting it when he kissed him, which Theodore knew because he wasn’t expecting it either.
One moment, he was trying to piece together why Neville was upset with him and why his chest hurt, and the next his hands were full of Gryffindor scarf and all he could think was that Neville’s lips were dry and chapped.
What he needed was a good lip salve.
Releasing his hold on Neville’s scarf, Theodore pulled back and licked his own lips to ease the way before darting back in for another kiss. The angle was off this time though and they bumped noses, which only managed to exasperate him.
Theodore pulled away and fixed Neville with a piercing look. They would get this right or he would hex someone. He knew what he was doing, which meant that Neville wasn’t experienced at all. Clearly everyone in Gryffindor was blind.
Theodore yanked off his gloves and stuffed them in his pockets as Neville worried his lower lip with his teeth and dug at the ground with the toe of his shoe.
“Stop that,” Theodore said and Neville froze, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip.
“The biting your lip,” he continued, “No one wants to snog someone when their lips are a mess.”
Neville opened his mouth, ostensibly to protest, and Theodore grabbed him by the scarf again and yanked him forward. Their mouths crashed together in a mess of words and teeth, and Theodore couldn’t help the smile that turned up the corners of his mouth.
Neville’s eyes fluttered closed, but Theodore made a point of keeping his eyes open as long as possible. He could’ve counted Neville’s eyelashes if he had the time and were so inclined.
The kiss this time was much better than the previous two, and Theodore’s tongue darted into Neville’s mouth without invitation or ceremony. He stroked Neville’s tongue with his own, and slipped his fingers underneath Neville’s scarf and caressed his bare throat with the tips of his fingers.
He twitched slightly when he felt Neville’s arms around his neck and then shivered at the brush of cold fingers at the nape of his neck. The kiss grew messy and wet, and Theodore only pulled away when he grew light-headed and needed to breathe.
Neville’s arms slackened their grip around his neck as Neville panted into the shoulder of Theodore’s coat, and Theodore kissed the corner of Neville’s mouth twice, before nipping at the exposed skin of Neville’s neck.
When Neville made a noise in the back of his throat, Theodore pulled away and let his hands fall back down to his sides. Neville’s eyes were huge as he blinked and focused on Theodore. “Oh,” was all he said.
“Oh, Great Salazar’s Ghost,” muttered Theodore. Shaking his head, he backed away.
Notts didn’t do things like this.
It was one thing to snog a boy, and it was something else to snog a Gryffindor, but to snog a male Gryffindor in public was simply going too far.
Don’t Be Shallow: Part II
